Train Spotting

Trainspotting presents an ostensible image of fractured society. The 1996 film opens, famously, with a series of postulated choices--variables, essentially, in the delineation of identity and opposition. Significant here is the tone in which these options are delivered--it might be considered the rhetorical voice of society, a playful exposition of the pressure placed on individuals to make the "correct" choices, to conform to expectation.

As such, the introduction might be read as contributing to the formation of two narrative constructs: that of "normality"--or at least that considered "normality" by prevailing ideology--and that of "subnormality," the remainder. In its uncompromising rejection of the former, the commentary of Ewan McGregor's Renton roots him thoroughly in the latter.

We see this division alluded to on a number of occasions. In the nightclub, for example, Renton quickly notices how the "successful" separate themselves from the "unsuccessful"--the former group embracing their newly-found partners and the latter nodding their heads sheepishly. "Success" is, however, more often linked with boredom and absurdity--with the easy life, with game-shows and bingo; "failure," despite its inherent misery and hardship, is shown to be exhilarating: a knife-edge. The tension inherent in this opposition is offered, arguably, as a reason for the behavioural patterns depicted; "what people forget is the sheer pleasure of it," as Renton confesses.

We might describe the group of friends, united by failure, as classic anti-heroes; as characters with whom we sympathise despite the horrors they commit. It is a reading underpinned by nihilism, and one can't help but recall the Zarathustrian "Table of Values" expounded by Nietzsche. The existence of different subcultures, defined by values which may completely contradict those of other groups, accords with a wider postmodern refutation of absolutes. These subcultures operate because the world around them is open to interpretation, and if an interpretation is justified, it is arguably as valid as one which directly opposes it.

The imposition of a universal set of values, like that of the law, for example, is a product of power--and, liberally speaking, an injustice. Renton notes that his mother, on tranquillisers, "is, in her own socially acceptable way, also a drug addict." Because these particular characters' choice of lifestyle conflict with that of the dominant order, they are marginalised--forced to live in squalor and filth. This is something signified in the mise-en-scene: theirs is a world of repugnant toilets; of splattered walls, doors and floors; of soiled bed-sheets; of buckets for "urine," "vomittus" and "faeces."

Fittingly, there is an equally strong argument to the contrary. Begbie proves an unreliable narrator, yet appears to act without conscience or consequence; Sick Boy, portrayed early on as a closet philosopher, is rendered mute after the death of his son. Some things are above and beyond words. Similarly, despite its apparent emphasis on the relationship between power and subjectivity, the film does pronounce ultimate ethical judgements, as I will describe in a moment.

Trainspotting essentially refuses to make up its mind. At the film's close, Renton's betrayal of his friends is completely rationalised away. Were his claims to a "fresh start" in any way convincing, we might consider it a utilitarian "good"; unfortunately, it is an event preceded by a number of sincerely intended "final hits" which were quickly succeeded, and there is little to suggest otherwise here. We are therefore denied the satisfaction of resolution.

"Pain" might be considered a central theme in Trainspotting. Every single occasion where the characters' emotions are tried, to the merest degree, is followed by the consumption of a drug. The consistency with which this is the case becomes almost comic. The drug may very well be heroin, as it is--embarrassingly if not monstrously--after the baby is discovered dead in its cot; indeed, after Sick Boy pleads with Renton to respond in a human fashion, to face up to and articulate the horror before him, "cooking up" is all he can come up with. But there are a multitude of examples, often more subtle. Tommy increases the amount of Smack he uses to numb his worsening headaches, a binge prompted by the breakdown of his relationship; following his overdose, Renton's parents fumble for cigarettes in the back of a taxi; Spud's incarceration is followed by a round of stiff drinks; a night of simultaneous misadventure precedes a wholesale return to junkie-hell.

"The streets are awash with drugs for unhappiness and pain," it is conceded; "we pile misery